


(A) Little Red

by Shachaai



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Demons, Other, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-17 09:47:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shachaai/pseuds/Shachaai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of a woman in red, who puts her faith in men and wolves and really probably shouldn't. No-one needs claws or fangs to go out and be a beast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(A) Little Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArchangelUnmei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchangelUnmei/gifts).



> A gift for my dear SJ, who really wanted a slightly serious/darker take on the 2011 Hetaween costumes of the Tomato Gang, where they came as the characters from Little Red Riding Hood. Added to that is some of the lovely costumes of the other characters from Hetaween 2010, because they're brilliant and the Frying Pangle make gorgeous demons.
> 
> The 'mature' is mostly for death, violence, and fridge horror.

Roderich has to stamp on the wrist of the arm to stop it crawling off – the bone makes a dull _snap_ sound under the good demon-doctor’s boot but the arm’s fingers keep hopelessly scrabbling in the dirt regardless, a literal last-ditch attempt at _some_ freedom for the soul who the severed limb once belonged to.

_“Whoo,_ ” Erzsébet takes a break from shovelling gravedirt to grin, bright-eyed, at her colleague’s disdainful expression – Roderich always _did_ hate getting dirty (as evidenced by the _pristine_ state of his fluttering white coat), and the pathetic flailing of their latest acquired limb is clearly getting on his nerves. “He’s a lively one.”

“I would have thought the noise the _rest_ of him is making would’ve made that quite apparent.” Roderich tucks the checklist of their daily tasks in the crook of his arm and presses down _harder_ when the arm under his boot keeps wriggling, driving the forearm deeper into the earth. The coffin in the part-filled hole below Erzsébet screams in time with the limb’s thrashing – as it has been doing for the past ten minutes, when the soul nailed inside of it woke up from Roderich’s special injection again and started clawing desperately at the lid. “We’re going to have to start increasing the dosage if they _will_ insist on making such a racket. The pitch of it drills right through my skull.”

“Oh, I _wish,_ Specs.”

Roderich only sniffs at the sudden interruption to the conversation – but Erzsébet immediately whirls about with an irritated tail-swish, dirt spraying everywhere from the spade’s blade as she points the tool threateningly at their uninvited company. “Gilbert!”

“’Lo, Harpy.” ‘Gilbert’ smirks crookedly and waves back with his own tail, seemingly thoroughly unconcerned about the spade pointed at his head with obvious intent and the screaming down below them. As per _usual_ he’s snuck into somewhere he shouldn’t be – namely, the netherworld’s graveyard that is _specifically_ reserved for Roderich and his assistants to harvest from -, and he’s casually perched himself atop a nearby headstone, one jean-clad knee drawn up to his chest and a wicked-looking pitchfork dangling loosely from one of his pale hands. “How goes it?”

“Oh, don’t you ‘how goes it’ _me,_ you lazy -”

“Gilbert, you are being highly detrimental to the working environment.” Roderich speaks firmly, interrupting Erzsébet before she can launch into a full-blown rant on Gilbert’s many flaws. He pushes his glasses up his nose, looking at the pale demon with his usual cool expression. “It would be greatly appreciated were you to depart at once.”

Gilbert snorts. “And miss checking out the Harpy’s new skirt?” Erzsébet tosses a large clump of dirt at his head. Gilbert dodges and it misses, and he opens his mouth to crow just as a second missile hits him straight in the mouth and makes him hack.

Erzsébet smirks at his distress – and hastily assumes a demure _my_ goodness _, where_ did _that lump of earth come from_ expression on her face when Roderich looks over at her with one arch eyebrow raised, tucking her hands behind her back so she can lean on her spade where it’s firmly buried in the dirt.

_“Bitch,_ ” Gilbert snarls, wiping the mud from his face and white hair, where it’s clumped near his horns.

_“Mongrel,_ ” Erzsébet retorts, and pours every ounce of disdain that’s she’s learned from Roderich into the word to make Gilbert’s hackles rise all the higher. If there’s one thing Gilbert _doesn’t_ have, it’s a pedigree _._ “Did you wander home because no-one else would feed you?”

“I _came back,_ ” Gilbert snaps, “to tell a certain bunch of demon _prats_ that I’d found mein bruder again.”

“Little Ludwig?” Erzsébet brightens, her mood changing entirely, clasping her hands together before her in delight. “It’s been so long! How’s he doing? Is he healthy? Happy?”

Gilbert smugly radiates brotherly pride. “He’s found himself a mate, got something like a small pack.”

“Oh, how _wonderful_!” Erzsébet can’t tamp down her happiness, pleased to know that the little boy she’d once known and helped raise on the surface was doing well. “I’m glad he’s not alone – he always _was_ such a withdrawn child; it’s good to know he has company now.” She glances over at Roderich, smiling at his contemplative expression. “Don’t you think so, dear?”

Roderich just _hm_ s. Sifting through her large mental collection of Roderich’s _hm_ s, Erzsébet can tell it’s a good one. Not that he’d ever really _said_ it, but Roderich had been quite fond of their Ludwig too. It was such a pity they’d both ended up dead so soon; they’d never really had the chance to see the littlest of their once-group grow up, nor help him deal with some of the greater…changes…life had flung at him.

There are drawbacks to demonhood.

“He’s got hunters after his pack,” says Gilbert, and Erzsébet’s smile drops.

“Oh, whatever _for?_ ” she asks crossly, and kicks a nearby clod of dirt into the open grave beside her. “And _you_ can shush as well,” she tells the coffin in it, vexed by the choked sobs coming from within. _Honestly._ “Can’t people just mind their own business?”

“I dunno the details -”

“And nor _should_ you,” says Roderich, and grinds his heel down on the arm he’s watching over. (Whether they’ll still be able to _use_ that arm after he’s finished with it is debatable.) The doctor’s face is…sterner…than usual, lips set in a tight line. “You cannot interfere in the business of the living without a contract, Gilbert, even _if_ your brother is threatened.”

“Always such a stickler for the _rules,_ Specs.” Gilbert looks displeased at the reminder, eyes narrowed and redder than the weird eternally-sunset netherworld sky. “There are always loopholes, anyway.” He stands, leaping off his gravestone-seat and brushing lichen off his rear. “This whole damn _world_ is built on loopholes, after all. Pretty sure my awesome self can find one that agrees with me.”

“It’ll be the _only_ thing that’s ever agreed with you,” Roderich sniffs, and Gilbert slams the butt of his pitchfork into the earth, disappearing in an unnecessarily dramatic whirl of blue-white light.

_“Well,_ ” says Erzsébet, when the other has gone, and puts her hands on her hips.

_“Work,_ ” Roderich reminds her, and Erzsébet sighs, picking up her spade again to continue filling the grave.

The hand under Roderich’s boot keeps twitching feebly, and the screaming coffin below them both slowly gets muffled, silenced, buried under mounds of netherworld dirt.


End file.
